


When The Sun Goes Down

by icouldnotsee (herprettysleeper)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, F/M, Reader-Insert, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, crossposting everything to ao3
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-11
Updated: 2016-12-11
Packaged: 2018-09-07 23:56:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,118
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8821351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/herprettysleeper/pseuds/icouldnotsee
Summary: In which you are hunted, but Dean can’t kill you because the universe couldn’t care less about your feelings. Features vampire!reader, hunter!Dean and Sam (as in canon). Also…Gordon Walker.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Soulmate!au (for I am a hopeless romantic and this is my true love). Also, vampires. This is new.

“We can’t keep living like this,” Connor insists. “I’m not going to keep living like this.”

“We don’t have time for arguments. Pack up—we’re going now, before the hunters catch up. Understand?”

He grips your shoulder. “ _Y/N._ We can’t keep running. I’m done, do you understand? We choke on animal blood. You can _taste_ the steroids.”

“You know what?” You turn to face him. “At this point, I couldn’t give two shits about your cravings. We’re still human, where it counts. We’re not going to hurt our brothers and sisters. We are _not_ going to feed on our own species.”

“You’re _not_ human anymore,” Connor growls. “And the sooner you realize that, the better off the rest of us are.”

You flip around. “You want human blood? Fine. Go ahead, rob a blood drive if you want, get your monthly vitamin early, I honestly couldn’t care less. But if you kill someone? If you _kill_ someone, you won’t have to wait for the hunters to come get you.” You feel your fangs slip out of their sockets. “I’d take my word as the damn gospel.”

“Sometimes I wonder why the universe chose _you_ as our leader,” Connor spits before leaving.

As he leaves, you whisper to yourself, “I ask myself the same question,” and sigh before looking down at your wrist and running your finger over the name tattooed there in elegant script.

_Dean Winchester._

You look over the name and press your finger against it. Right now, the color of it is swirls of purple and red. He’s uneasy.

 _I feel you, Dean._ You look out the window—the sun is coming up.

You turn to go back to your coffin and get some rest.

~*~

This is not the time to be reading his tattoo.

Dean Winchester glances at it, notices it’s blue-black, and almost frowns at the thought of what is making her feel melancholy, before remembering that she is very, very dead.

His tattoo is crossed out, and it has been since he was eighteen. She can’t be alive, so it’s just the tattoo malfunctioning, and if that isn’t a cruel punishment, he doesn’t know what is.

Sam’s is stricken-through, but at least Sam’s stays dull black and dead. At least his—

All his internal complaining almost gets him killed as the axe sails towards his neck, and he drops.

“Focus, Dean!” Sam yells.

“Dude, I’ve been doing this four years longer than you have so would you shut the—”

The ghost charges Sam, and Dean shoots it with rock salt. _Nothing_ touches his brother and gets away with it.

“It’s gotta be in the house!” Sam yells out.

“I know that! Just go, dude!”

“Alright!”

“Also—” Dean ducks a vase to the head, “The basement is a good place to start! People who are jacked up in the head tend to put things—goddamn, woman, can you see I am trying to have a conversation?” Sam’s already gone. Dean curses and shoots rock salt at the thing until— _damn._

He’s out of rounds.

The ghost comes closer and closer to him, and, “ _Sammy, hurry up!_ “

“I am _looking!_ ”

“Well, look faster!” Dean rolls to the side as a ghost—a smiling old woman with blood all over her face, which is not creepy at _all_ —throws a dresser at where he was covering. He scrambles to his feet and runs, and he stops in his tracks.

The ghost smiles her forever smile, and he takes a step back. Two steps. Three.

“Now I’m sure that deep within you, you’re a really good person—”

The ghost plunges her hands into his chest, and he slumps. She's— _ow_ —she’s gripping his heart, yanking at it—

Then she disappears.

Standing maybe a foot behind where the ghost was is a man holding a rock salt gun.

“Thanks,” Dean gasps, trying to catch his breath.

“Don’t thank me. The bones aren’t in the basement this time.” The man tosses Dean the rock salt gun before running upstairs, not that Dean needs it, because the next time he sees the spirit, her forever smile is gone, and she screams in agony as she goes up in flame.

“Creep who kept her bones was apparently sleeping with them,” the man calls as he comes back down the stairs, lighter in one hand, salt in the other.

Sam’s back up, and both Sam and Dean are staring at the man as he walks within a couple feet of them. The man looks them back and forth. “So,” he drawls, “are we gonna continue with this whole stare at each other suspiciously thing or are we gonna cut the mystery novel crap and move on? I’m Gordon by the way.” The man smiles, producing pearly white teeth. “Gordon Walker.”

“We’re the Winchesters,” Sam says for the both of them, and Dean wants to say that he knows his own name, thank you very much, but thinks better of it, “I’m Sam, he’s Dean.”

“If you’re not too tired, there’s another job not too far from here,” Gordon offers. “Vampire nest. It’ll take a couple hours to find them, and we can hit ‘em before sunset. You in?”

Dean’s aware that there’s no way he can say no, because the job never ends.

His tattoo fades into purple—cautious—and then black, not the faded black of death, but the kind of black that shows pain, so much pain, and then bright red. _Terrified._

Dean resists pressing his hand over his tattoo and smiles at Gordon. “Sure.”

~*~

You’d never thought what had gone down in the last fifteen minutes would ever happen.

You’d woken up with hunger pains, so you’d groaned and gone over to the fridge. There were a couple jugs of animal blood, and you saw some bags from the blood drive (which you didn’t drink, because even though no one had been hurt, it made you guilty thinking someone had actually needed that blood), and a box of old pizza. You poured a glass of animal blood, and a slice of pepperoni and braced yourself before chugging down the blood and shoving it down with pizza (vampires could eat and enjoy normal food, but it was like eating air nutritionally, albeit deliciously flavored and textured air).

You were content eating your slice until you heard a sound.

You’d stopped, frowned, and focused in—the one bonus of this whole vampire thing was the enhanced senses—on the sound. Like…whining. Crying? Begging through cloth…a gag…

 _Human_ begging.

You shot to your feet and sped.

It was downstairs, so you shot down the basement, swung open the door. “What the fuck is going on—”

A needle in your neck. Pain. _Dead man’s blood._

Your eyes rolled up in the back of your head, and you woke up in chains, which brings you up to speed with current events, and your pissed levels are currently elevating.

You struggle against the binding, but the dead man’s blood is already poisoning you, and you’re weak. You need to burn it off, but you can’t. You quicken your breathing, drum your fingers. You can fight this.

You’re in the basement, the shutters closed. It’s pitch black, though it’s nearly sunset outside, and you should be sleeping for an hour more or so but _no,_ you’ve got to deal with _this._

_You can fight this, you can fight this, you can—_

“Are you scared?” Connor taunts.

You don’t pay him any attention, focusing. You’re dizzy, but you can still make it past this.

“You really should try fresh blood.” Connor licks his fingers. “It’s delicious.”

You jerk back to reality. “ _What?_ ”

Connor smiles, and you bring into focus what your brain ignored and shoved back, and you try not to throw up.

A man of maybe thirty is ripped to _shreds._ Then a little girl, maybe…seven, her chest ripped open, eyes glassy. And a sixteen-year-old girl, unconscious. Barely breathing.

“ _Have you lost you goddamned mind?_ ” You growl.

“No, I haven’t. And the rest of the pack agrees with me.”

The scents of your friends become stronger until they’re in the room. Sorry eyes. Apologies unsaid. Some cruel, though. Victorious.

Betrayal—you can smell it.

“You’ve been feeding. Like _feeding._ ”

“It’s in our blood,” Lacy adds uneasily with her sweet voice. “We shouldn’t find it.”

You laugh without humor. “A vampire,” You begin, slowly with the enunciation of every syllable, “Came to your house when you were fourteen, killed your family, turned you, and now you’re copying that behavior, and your best excuse is that it’s in your blood?” You look at her incredulously. Since you found her, she’s been the little sister you could never have, and now. Now.

Lacy pales. “Well, it is.”

The tattoo on your wrist becomes purple, an orchid color, indicating your soulmate’s caution. Carefulness.

And you burst into laughter.

“Y’all are…not shitting me right now. You’re honestly—oh my fucking _God._ ” And you laugh until you’re settled.

“Alright, enough chit-chat.” You burst from your chains, having burned off the poison, growling and unleashing your fangs. “Let’s get to business.”

You’re the alpha vampire, the lead of the pack. And God help you if you go down without a fight.

You plan your attack, and charge at Connor, and him at you, but you faint right and grab the teen human girl who’s still alive and run out.

You can save her. There’s still time. If you can get something on the wound on her neck, so she can make it to the hospital, she’ll make it.

You lay her down and press your lips against her neck, moistening the wound. Come _on—_

You smell them—not your pack. _Shit._

You drag the girl behind the barn and keep trying to work until you’re knocked aside.

“You’re going down, bitch,” the voice says.

“No, please,” you say, but there are hands on your neck. “I need to help her.”

“Help her, my ass.” And the hunter pins you against the wall behind the behind the barn you were held up in, and more dead man’s blood and everything hurts.

His soulmate tattoo flashes red. _Terrified._ Whoever she is matches your mood perfectly.

“Please. I need to—”

“We got it. Now you—” He holds up a knife, “aren’t going to make it past today.”

“Please, believe me.” Your hand shoots out, pushing back the blade. “Don’t—”

But he pushes away your hand, has the knife next to your neck, and you don’t want to die.

“ _Please._ ”

The knife presses against your neck. You’re not dead. You’re about to be. You can’t breathe.

“Please, I was just trying to help—”

The knife bites deeper, your tattoo flashes dark, melancholy, and his is red, so red, bursting red, and you look into his eyes and—

“ _Dean! Please, stop!_ ”

And he drops the knife in shock.

He pushes you back into the wall. “ _How do you know my name?_ ” He growls.

You throw up your arm, showing him your wrist. “Dean, _please._ ”

He drops you and stumbles back, and when he sees you again, he looks so terrified that it hurts you. You slump against the wall.

“Oh, God,” he breathes.

“I’m sorry,” you say weakly.

Dean’s hands are knotted in his hair. You say dryly, “Crisis is only temporary, if that helps you at all.”

No reply.

“I’m sorry,” you repeat.

He cups your face. “Don’t apologize…goddamn.” He walks away from you, facing you still. He doesn’t know what to do—you wouldn’t in his situation.

“Dean!” Another voice, and you sense him reach for it. A brother.

He helps you into the shed. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. But…they went savage, they killed people. The rest of my pack. Saliva…it’s disgusting, but vampire saliva has healing properties and—”

He’s already bringing the girl to you, and you help her, tell him she needs to be hospitalized, and you start pacing, working off the dead man’s blood.

“You need to leave,” he says.

You look at him. “I guessed.”

“I…I don’t know what to say.”

“No one does.” You turn to leave, then walk up to him. “Do you…mind?”

He’s searching your face, trying to comprehend what you mean, so you kiss him. Your entire body lightens. He’s still, then kisses you back, your fingers gripping sections of his hair, his hands cupping your face, a thumb stroking your cheek.

He pulls away first and you catch your breath. His brother is closer now, and there’s someone else too. More experienced. You can smell the fun that person is having.

“You need to leave,” he says.

“I know.” You look out the door to the shed, start to make calculations as to where you could go, how fast you could escape. You have a couple seconds before the other hunters catch up, so you walk to the opening, readying to leave, but…

Your soulmate. The person the universe decided is your one and your match is in this shed, and you’re going to leave him.

The sun sets overhead, bringing darkness. Cover. You need to go.

“Dean…” You turn, and you see what his eyes are trying to say. _Go. Not the time. Please._ “I know…I know you’re a hunter, but…anyway. If you don’t want me to find you, just say something. Anything, and I will never bother you again. If you do want to see me again, just let me leave. I don’t have long to linger, so…” You look up. “Please.”

You watch the dilemma play out on his face, and when he opens his mouth your heart drops, but then he says:

“ _Come find me._ ”

 _Says_ it, but speaking means…

You blink, then smile at him. He smiles back.

You take a step out the door, and sprint as fast as you can until you’re miles away in pitch black night, safe and sound and maybe, _his._

~*~

When Sam, Gordon, and him are out of there, Gordon leaving to wherever he’s holed up and him and his brother to their hotel rooms (and after the teen girl is dropped off at the hospital), Sam asks Dean what’s wrong.

“Nothing,” Dean assures him. “Thinking, is all.”

He traces the name on his wrist. She’s okay, for now. She’s sleeping, because the tattoo has gone white, and she’s not in pain, because his wrist isn’t burning. He’s fine.

“You sure?” Sam looks worried.

Dean smiles. “Yeah, I’m sure.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This part features lots of Sam and Reader friendship :) It also features scenes from All Hell Breaks Loose and No Rest For The Wicked. Vampires are good for the soul. Yeah. Anyway, on with the story!

_Everything is sharp. Clear as glass._

_Yet Dean can’t see any of it, just Sam, falling, the back of his mind replaying what’s just happened, the knife in his little brother’s back, his spine severed, the slow slump, and Dean catches him before he can hit the ground._

_He screamed_ look out, _he warned him._ Sammy, why do you never listen?

_It doesn’t matter now, because Dean has his brother, and, “Sam! Hey! Hey, come here. Let me look at you.”_

_He touches Sam’s back, feels the blood drench his hand._

_Dean pulls Sam back, holding him up. “Hey, look at me. It’s not even that bad, alright?” He tries to hold up his brother’s head—it wobbles. “We’re gonna patch you up. You’ll be as good as new. I’m gonna take care of you, I’ve got you. That’s my job, right? Watch out for my pain-in-the-ass little brother?” He smiles, trying to get a reaction. “Sam?” He can’t keep up the facade—Dean panics. “Sam?_ Sam! Sammy! _”_

_Sam slumps into his arms._

_“No. Nononononono. Oh, God.”_

_And Dean cries._

_“_ Sam! _”_

_He doesn’t let Bobby bury the body, and he makes the deal._

~*~

_“You can’t tell him.” Dean chokes up. “You take a shot at me, whatever you gotta do, but please don’t tell him.”_

_Bobby grips Dean’s chin and cries._

~*~

_Sam finds out and burns in a rage Dean can’t bother to feel._

~*~

_When the hounds come, it’s okay, because he deserves it._

_He just wishes he had more time to say sorry._

~*~

A choice.

He gave you a choice when he told you to find him. Or…you don’t know what to think anymore.

You’d analyzed the three small words Dean said to you before your parting to death.

_Come find me._

Then you’d taken in the circumstances.

You’d told him that if he wanted to see you again, to say nothing, but he didn’t do that. You’d asked him to say something if he wanted you gone forever, and he did say something, but he said to find you.

It took you a couple days on the run to figure out that he could either mean one of two things.

1) That he wanted you to make a choice. He wanted you to decide if you wanted him.

2) That you didn’t have to find him, because he’d be the one doing the searching.

And just your luck, neither one of those scenarios were satisfactory, because even when you narrowed down how you could respond, you were still left with a _choice._

So you searched him. Found traces of him. Found a number, and texted.

_Total dick move ~Y/N_

You got your first reply a day later.

_That’s just how I roll._

The first time you met was a trade of awkward gestures and small talk that beats around the bush.

The texting continued, and there were snide remarks, and fights, and the first call was awkward too, but then you got to hear his voice, and it made your heart soar.

Also, the phone sex.

Yeah, the phone sex was great too.

The fourth time you met in person he kissed you before he left.

The fifth time, it felt like he was coming home.

The sixth…

He visited you no matter where you moved or where you went. He was there, whenever he could be.

Until you got a text.

_I love you, okay? Forever. No matter what happens, I love you._

And that was the last one you ever received.

~*~

It’s dark where you are right now, and generally, your tattoo colors alternate between a few select, saying he’s either melancholy, cautious, or terrified.

He’s terrified a lot more than he should be.

You hate when it fades from cautious to in pain to terrified, because that’s when he’s in danger, but the worst is when your tattoo suddenly flares a bright red from its usual melancholy, because then he didn’t plan this, because then he’s really, really scared and you want to help him but you can’t, you can’t, you never can.

You know hunting is dangerous. You know he’s dedicated himself to something that helps humanity, but…he’s still Dean, and ultimately, _yours._

You try to brush it off and believe that he’s too smart to be hurt, but the truth is that no one is too smart to be dead, and whatever bleeds you can kill.

So when you’re at the bar, flirting with a guy you’ll give up on right before he makes his move, and a line goes through the tattoo on your wrist, you collapse.

Your entire body coils up and you throw up on the floor before you can make it to the bathroom, but even once you’re inside, you know he’s gone, he’s really gone. You feel it like someone had stuck a blender into your gut, because, _Dean—_

“Oh my…oh my God.”

No. This can’t be happening.

No, no, no.

“ _No._ ”

You pass out.

~*~

_When Dean is eighteen, he wakes up with a line through the name on his wrist._

_He rubs at his eyes, because surely, this isn’t happening to him. He’s hallucinated things right after awakening before, and he doubts that there will ever be a last time._

_But it’s still there. Still…_

_She’s dead._

_He hurls._

~*~

You force yourself to come to before you get hauled off to a hospital where the doctors will freak out when they realize that your body is dead.

You look at your wrist, and no. No, no, no, no, this hasn’t happened and—

“ _Dean._ ”

You stumble to your feet, and three people help you, ask you if you had too much, but no, all you can say is Dean, _Dean, Dean—_

He’s not a vampire. If he’d been turned a vampire or a werewolf, you’d still have your tattoo changing colors. And if he was turned he’d kill himself.

It doesn’t matter.

You collapse in the bar on your way out, and they ask you again, what’s wrong, what’s wrong—

They see your wrist, hear your chant, put the pieces together like the simple-minded humans they are, and then pity.

You stop crying, ignore his name in the back of your mind.

You need to find Sam Winchester.

~*~

**Year One**

Dean’s skin is on fire, and he’s not going to make it. He’s not going to last—

For Sam. It’s for Sam, and maybe he’ll be okay because of that. For Sam, for Sam…and Y/N.

For the two people who meant anything.

His skin is on fire, and that’s why he’s going to make it.

~*~

You knock on the motel room door, a bag in your hands.

Sam Winchester opens the door, and he smells like sex and stress and frustration, but that’s just the top layer. Underneath—sadness. He looks empty.

“How can I help you?” he says. Even the smile is fake.

“Okay.” You get to your knees. “I’m going to give you this bag, and then you’re not going to kill me.” You push it over. “Sam.”

He opens the bag, which is filled with vials of dead man’s blood, machetes. Then a bundle of papers—printed out messages.

Sam looks up, and just like you expected, there’s a blade against your neck.

“ _Who are you?_ ” he asks.

“I used to know your brother. And the weapons are here because I wanted you to understand that I have no interest in harming you.”

“What are the papers?”

“Texts,” you say. “Texts, and emails. And…” You close your eyes, “…motel receipts. And credit card bills.”

“You…” Sam looks you up and down. “You have got to be kidding me. You had like…an affair? Doesn’t that only happen in the movies? And—” he eyes the bag. “You’re a vampire. I swear, when I get him back—”

Your stomach sinks. “He’s really dead.” You slump, feel the pain overtake you all over again. “He’s really gone.”

“He’s not—he’s taking a departure. I’m going to get him back—wait. How do you even know he’s dead?”

You raise your wrist. “His crossed out when he was eighteen, right?”

Sam looks so stunned that he just says. “Yeah. And…there wasn’t a body.”

“You found me.” The tears come then—the collapse. “Can I come in?”

“Sure. Yeah, sure.”

You sit on the second bed and feel Dean’s jacket. It smells like him, too, like leather and the inside of a loved car and metal.

“So Dean’s been seeing you for _how_ long?” Sam flips through the texts.

“A year.” You clutch the jacket tighter.

“A year, and—”

“He didn’t tell you. Yeah, I know.” You sit up. “Now imagine this. Just your luck, you grow up a hunter, and in the middle of attacking a vampire nest, you realize that you’re about to kill your soulmate, what do you do?”

Sam looks away. “He lied to me. And you—” He flips the machete in his hands. “You killed people. That man? That little kid?”

You stand. “I didn’t. My pack turned. I’ve never killed a human in my entire life. Ever.”

“Why don’t I believe you?” He closes in, and you fold hands.

“I saved her,” you say. “The teenager. I was too late for the others, but—” Blade against skin.

“Convince me,” Sam says softly, and it’s worse than if he’d growled.

“Look me in the eye, and tell me if I’m lying.” You meet Sam’s gaze.

He falters. “Dean used to say that.” He smiles bitterly. “It always worked.” He lets his hand fall to his side, with the blade. “Introduce yourself.”

“I’m Y/N Y/L/N,” you begin. “I’m Dean’s soulmate.”

~*~

**Year 10**

It hurts.

“This will all stop if you join me,” Alastair says. “Just take the knife, and it’ll be over.”

“Bite me,” Dean grinds out.

“Alright,” the demon says in that soft, sing-song, fluffy voice, like the fur of a dog before it attacks you. “If it’s ought to be that way.”

The knife comes back down, and Dean tries not to scream.

He doesn’t last long.

~*~

He’s not okay.

Sam, that is. And you’ve been hunting since you realized what you are. You’ve been killing the monsters that hunt people for a long time, specifically since you died when you were eighteen, so it’s easy to fall into a routine with Sam, which is what you’ve been doing for the month.

In addition to looking for a way to bring Dean back.

Sam is drunk which is your least favorite Sam, and he stumbles into the back seat of the car.

“Cirrhosis,” you call out. “Is a real possibility, you know. You need your liver to function.”

You hear gagging sounds, and an alarm goes off in your head. “I swear to God, Sam, you puke in this beautiful car and I will—”

He throws up, and your fangs slip out. “Kill you.”

You throw back a bottle of cow blood, put it in the plastic bag you keep trash in, and separate from anything that belongs to the Impala.

You’ve got to get the weather mat (which you put on the ground for this specific circumstance) cleaned, and then vacuum the crap out of this car.

Dean is not coming back to a fucked-up Impala.

~*~

**Year 20**

Dean has given up.

It’s been twenty years in Hell, and he knows that he’s not getting out. Ever.

But he isn’t going to become a monster.

He lets himself be ripped apart by Alastair, over and over again. He’s his favorite.

“Come on, Dean. Can’t do this forever.”

“Yeah, and kiss my ass while you’re at it.”

Alastair tsks. “You humans never do learn.”

~*~

Two months.

Nothing but ghosts and werewolves (which Sam’s touchy about) and everything else under the sun.

No leads.

Dean is burning, and you haven’t done anything to stop it.

You tilt your head back and down another shot.

Sam snorts. “Hypocrite. You know, there’s this thing called _cirrhosis,_ ” he mimics.

“My body is dead, you dick.”

Sam rolls his eyes and swallows down a shot in a gulp, then coughs. “What—what the heck was that?”

“Water, laced with good ol’ Emergen-C. Good for your immune system.”

“Go die in a hole.”

“I already have.”

He goes to bed, and you look down at your wrist. _Dean Winchester._

No, ~~_Dean Winchester._~~

You tell yourself it’s fine.

~*~

**Year 30**

“Come on, Deano,” Alastair says. “Want to do this forever?”

He doesn’t reply.

“Okay, then.” And the knife comes down.

Dean can’t take it anymore.

“No, please,” he gasps.

“What was that?” Alastair says.

“Please, make it stop.

~*~

Sam refuses to meet Bobby, so you do.

He tries to kill you as soon as he sees you, but you make him believe you.

Three months, no progress.

Bobby tries to tell you can’t bring him back.

You don’t listen to him.

~*~

**Year 40**

When it’s over for the day, Dean tries to pretend he hasn’t done the things he’s done.

He thinks about her, and how she didn’t care what she was, and how she never gave in. Never hurt anyone.

He’s not like her.

And then it’s time to start all over again.

~*~

The end of month four is up, and you’re done.

Dean is gone.

He’s your everything, and he’s gone.

You make yourself okay. You take care of his car, his things, his brother. You take care of it.

Sam gets far too into hunting, so you make sure to swipe out his whiskey for water.

It’s okay.

Which is why when you wake up, and Dean’s name isn’t crossed out and is green with specks of purple—confused—you scream for Sam.

~*~

He doesn’t know where he is.

He’s in the middle of nowhere, and just clawed himself out of a grave. He calls Bobby, who doesn’t believe him, so he shows up at Bobby’s.

Bobby tries to kill him a couple times, then covers his face in holy water.

Dean is still for a moment, spits it out. “I’m not a demon.”

“Doesn’t hurt to check,” Bobby replies.

Dean smiles, and they hug, and talk, and, “Where’s Sam? Is…” Dean pales. “Is he—”

“Oh, he’s alive. As far as I know.”

Dean raises an eyebrow, changes his stance. “Good…wait. What do you mean, as far as you know?”

“I haven’t talked to him for months.”

“You’re kidding. You just let him go off by himself?”

“He was dead set on it.”

Dean gives Bobby a grave look. “You should’ve been looking out for him.

“I _tried._ It hasn’t been an easy few months. For him or me. We had to buryyou.”

Dean looks down, rubs the back of his neck, feeling a bit of shame, then, “Why _did_ you bury me?”

“I wanted you salted and burned. Usual drill. But,” Bobby shakes his head. “Sam wouldn’t have it. He said…he said you’d need a body when he got you back home somehow.”

“Oh. _Oh._ Oh, Sammy.”

“What?” Bobby looks alarmed.

“I think I know why I’m back.”

~*~

Of course, Sam attacks Dean when he sees him again.

“ _Who are you?_ ” his little brother screams, charging him with a knife, but he doesn’t expect the side tackle, a body pinning him down, and Bobby has to wrangle Sam to stop his brother from killing him.

He has to hold back a strong arm in order to keep the knife away from his body. “ _Where’s Dean, and what did you do to him?_ ”

He stops. “Y/N?”

Her teeth are bared, fangs out, and she looks terrifying, like Death all dressed up and stuffed into nothing more than a girl. She looks beautiful.

Some smarter part of him says that this is not the time, so he pushes her away, and Bobby calms them both down.

“I tested him. I did, I swear,” Bobby assures.

Sam and Y/N look at Bobby, then each other. Then Sam says, “Dean?”

She echoes him and stays frozen in place.

His brother hugs him and he feels like he’s going to die of suffocation, but it’s okay.

Then Sam pulls away, looks at Y/N, then at Dean, and takes a step back.

She walks up to him and his pulse elevates, his breathing quickens. She touches his cheek, knots her fingers in his hair before letting go.

Then she slaps him.

“Ow,” Dean whines. “What was that for?”

“Don’t,” she begins, her voice choking, “Don’t you _ever_ dare go to Hell on me again, Dean fucking Winchester, or I will personally drag you out so I can kill you again, do you understand?”

“Yes, ma’am.” He smiles, tears in his eyes, her cool hand back on his face, gently stroking where she hit.

Her tears fall, and this time, she’s the one to kiss him first.

Of course, there’s interrogation, a promise from Sam that there was no demon deal made, which opens up a new can of worms, but it’s okay for now.

She’s cool against him, and it’s all okay.

~*~

“Aren’t vampires nocturnal?” Bobby asks Dean, eyeing Y/N, who is asleep and leaning against Dean as crap TV plays in the background.

“Well…yeah. Uh, Sam, any answers on that?”

“She changed her sleeping patterns after…you know. We’ve been hunting together.”

Dean decides to question his brother later.

“Y’all are like damn Bella and Edward or something,” Bobby mutters.

“I am not Bella. Bella had no personality, and Edward apparently has a marble chest and the air he breathed literally became a drug. I, for one, have a personality, and she’s not made of marble.”

Sam tilts his head. “How do you know that?”

Oops. “Someone was talking about it somewhere.”

“Somewhere people talk about books is a bookstore, Dean.” Sam almost laughs. “She made you read it, didn’t you?”

Dean is silent.

“She _did!_ I thought she hated Twilight.”

“She does,” Dean replies. “She thought it was appropriate punishment for losing a bet.”

“How bad was it?”

Dean looks Sam dead in the eyes, and (ignoring the fact that Bobby hasn’t said anything) says, “One sentence, man. _When he touched me, it stung my hand as if an electric current had passed through us._ ”

Sam laughs his head off, and Dean grins.

~*~

When Dean wakes up, Sam and Bobby are there, but there is no familiar coolness against his shoulder.

She’s not here. His stomach curls.

And there’s a letter on his lap.

_Happy you made it back home in one piece._

_Now us? We have work to do._

_You want your vampire whore back?_

_Then you’ve got work to do, Dean._

_Bring him to me._

_You. Know. Who._

Dean’s blood goes cold.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part three! Hopefully this isn’t a flaming mess. Also, Gordon Walker is back and I twist up canon again. Enjoy!

_Everything is bright. Pounding._

_He’s escaped the vampire, but now…now he’s been turned._

_Gordon is going to be one of_ them.

_He knows he has to stop living, stop existing now. But there’s an Anti-Christ out there, and he doesn’t intend to fade away until he’s done one more thing._

_Kubrik, the fanatic he was, wouldn’t help him, and Gordon can still feel his former partner’s blood under his nails, but Gordon isn’t done—not yet._

_So when he sees Dean (without Sam, so there’s no point in attacking just yet) and sees him kiss a girl, pressing her against the Impala and feels love in both of them but can only hear the beating of one heart, he realizes that he has the perfect bait. He’ll have to wait, but that’s okay._

Sammy, I’m coming for you, _Gordon thinks, a smile spreading across his face._ And it’s about time.

~*~

When you get out of here, you are going to make this son of a bitch _pay_ for this—

“Now, tell me,” Gordon begins, “Where is Sam Winchester?”

You let out a low growl, but your vision is blurry and you can barely think straight, you’re full of so much dead man’s blood. Your veins are popping out through your skin. But you’ll die before you let anyone get your best friend.

You can hear the blood outside so loudly—it’s almost as if you’re freshly turned.

“Go to Hell,” you spit out.

Gordon chuckles. “You sound so much like the man you whore for.”

You feel the punch of the words, then you let the force seep in and slide through and you’re okay, and it’s fine. You grit your teeth as he dips the blade in dead man’s blood and drags it through your skin. For your best friend…and for the man who’s more than that.

 _I better fucking get triple chocolate crème cake for this,_ you think, and you brace yourself.

When it comes, you’re ready.

~*~

“Dean, calm down!”

“No, I have to find her. She needs to—I need to—gotta find her,” Dean says, rummaging through his things, for a clue or something, there has to be more than this, more than a note with no coordinates or leads or—

Bobby’s voice cuts in. “You’re not going to find her under papers, Dean. And you need to stop.”

Dean chuckles. “Bobby, I don’t think you understand. She’s my soulmate. I can’t—I’m going to bring her back.”

Bobby sighs. “Dean, she’s not in danger.”

“It’s Gordon, Bobby. She’s definitely in danger. Just—”

“No, she isn’t. Because she sent me this.” Bobby holds out his phone and Dean snatches it from him, reads the message.

_listen dean_

_im sorry_

_i cant live like this_

_bye_

He reads the text over and over again. “No,” he says. “It’s not her. It’s a code. It has to be.”

“Dean, you can’t trust—”

“Don’t say it,” Dean says, “Don’t.”

Bobby shakes his head. “Dean—”

“I know. You can’t trust vampires? I know. But she’s my soulmate. I know her, and he’s hurting her, and I can feel it. See?” Dean holds up his wrist, showing the shiny, oil-black color, red beams breaking through. “Just trust me. Trust her. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, but no arguments. Not now. Trust me. _Please._ ”

Bobby exhales. “Fine. Where do you wanna start?”

“Well—” Dean glances back over the message again and stops. “Wait.”

“What?” Sam interjects. He looks distressed.

“There’s no punctuation, and it’s in lowercase,” Dean says.

“And?” Bobby takes a step closer, to reread the message.

“She’s a grammar Nazi,” Sam tells Bobby, with a bit of a surprised laugh. “She would kill someone who said _Anyways._ Forget not putting in apostrophes.”

“No periods, either. Which means—she’s a goddamned genius,” Dean says, getting paper and a pen. “It’s a number.”

Sam looks over the paper, and catches on. “Ten words, ten digits. The number of letters in each word is— _damn._ ”

“XXX-XXX-XXXX.” Sam types the number into the phone, tosses it to Dean, and it rings once, twice.

The color of his tattoo changes to a pale blue—hopeful. The dialing stops, and the voicemail message plays. She heard it.

“Sam, can you track it?”

“On it.” His brother heads to the laptop, and Dean shares a look with Bobby before joining him.

~*~

_You’re tied and chained up, and you just want to go home, please._

_“Please don’t hurt me,” you say, “Please.”_

_The man is holding a vial of thick, red fluid._

_“I’m not going to hurt you,” The man says, looking at the dropper. “You’ll never feel more alive, and you’ll be with me.”_

_“Please,” you beg. “I’m only eighteen.”_

_The man grins, coming closer with the full dropper. “When I’m done, you’ll be eighteen forever.”_

~*~

“So, we both go in,” Sam begins, going over the plan. “He wants me, right?”

Bobby left, with some reluctance. He has to watch over the other hunters, which makes sense, but—

Sam interrupts Dean’s thoughts. “We get Y/N, anyone else that he took, then what? What do we do about Gordon? Doesn’t this feel…off?”

Dean pauses, chuckles. “Okay, so first Gordon goes all kill-crazy first time we see him, makes it his mission to hunt you down because apparently he thinks you’re the death of the world, and now he’s here, using my soulmate as bait, and you think it’s supposed to feel _normal?_ ”

“No, it’s just—too easy. He’s got some sort of advantage we don’t.”

“He’s angry—he can’t think straight.”

“Okay, just…calm down. We’ll get her back, alright?”

Dean nods almost furiously, and they’re out of the Impala and running, Dean quieting his steps as he gets closer.

Dean’s phone pings, and,

_I hope you’re coming. She’s such a pretty thing, don’t you think?_

Dean’s peripheral vision goes white with complete rage and he bursts into the warehouse, disregarding silence, hears one familiar voice, a panicked voice, scream out, “ _Dean! Sam! It’s a trap—_ ”

And a separating door falls between Dean and his brother.

“You _idiot,_ ” Y/N hisses.

Relief fills him, and he runs towards his soulmate, his heart leaping into his throat at the sight of her.

She’s…she’s just flesh, torn up and bruised and _Gordon will pay._

“You should’ve let me die. Now, he’s going to get Sam.” Tears are welling in her eyes. “Dean, why didn’t you leave?”

“You sent me code,” he says softly.

“He made me. I thought…I thought you’d think I was leaving. But you fucking Winchesters and your intelligence.”

He smiles, but her skin is in shreds. He touches her hair—it’s the only part that’s been left alone. “Are you going to be okay?”

She shakes her head. “I don’t think so. But stop thinking about me. You’ve got to get Sam—please. You have to.”

“Sam can handle himself.”

You shake your head. “Not in the dark. Not against a vampire.”

Dean’s breathing stills. “What?”

“Someone turned Gordon, Dean. He’s freshly turned, and he’s fed.”

Dean blinks.

Oh, _God._

~*~

Sam is alone, and closed into the dark room by himself, hearing Gordon’s voice.

“I can do one last good thing with my life,” the man says, and Sam’s heart accelerates.

Off. Something is off.

“Come out, you coward,” Sam yells out.

When Sam sees the flash of fangs for a second, he understands.

“Did you think you could live?” Gordon taunts. “And your brother, with the vampire whore. Your daddy would be so ashamed.”

Anger flares in Sam. “You didn’t kill her,” Sam starts. “She’s not weak.”

“Oh, she is. She’s also a monster. She can’t control it, Sammy.”

“Control _what?_ ”

“The hunger.”

~*~

You watch Dean panic.

It’s what he does best, honestly—worry. But when he can’t take it out on a monster, when he’s confined to one space…

During the year that you met in secret, you trailing him and him catching up with you, you learned this. He was always worried.

But he never told you that he was going to Hell.

You can talk about this later.

He turns back to you. “Are you going to be okay? How long till you heal?”

You blink at him. “I can’t.”

At first a look of confusion flits across his face, matching the color of the tattoo on your wrist and then understanding settles in. “How long has it been since you refueled?”

“Three days,” you say. “I was going to eat in the morning, but…you know. I can’t regenerate.”

Dean locks eyes with you. “How much do you need?”

“I just need half a pint, a cup maybe…” You sense the change in the atmosphere and his intentions. “ _No._ ”

“It’s okay,” he begins. “I don’t want you to die. I lose at least half a pint daily. I’ll be okay.”

“I won’t drink from you. I am never—no.”

“Why not? You’re hurting. You need—”

“ _Not from you._ Not from anyone. It’s like a drug, Dean—fresh blood. It becomes an addiction. You saw what my pack did.” You swallow. “I won’t be like them. Never.”

“Y/N. I’m not a victim. I’m asking you. You need to drink something.”

“Dean…” But you’ve resisted so long. The hours feel like days, and…

He gets closer. “It’s okay,” he tells you. His voice is deeper than it should be, and you get closer to him. He sits next to you, gently pulls you into his lap. You can smell his blood through his skin, can feel it pump faster with anticipation. He asks quietly, “Will it hurt?”

You shake your head. “No,” you breathe, and you bite him.

“ _Oh,_ ” he breathes quietly, his exhale long. You close your eyes and his roll up in his head from pleasure, and you know that soon you need to stop, because it’ll turn to pain, _torture_ if you drink too much. But the first pint is ecstasy. You need to pull away, but—

“Y/N,” he moans, and you pull away immediately.

“Sorry,” you tell him. “I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s—”

“I won’t.” You can feel the fill, the ache ease. Tiredness sweeps over you. “I won’t.” You’re losing your grip on consciousness. “I’ll see you soon,” you tell him, and you slip into the darkness.

~*~

Sam isn’t sure how it happens, but it happens.

Gordon charges him, and Sam is unarmed, but he grips the razor wire and knows what to do, pushing it against Gordon’s neck, feeling each inch of force push through, hearing the sickening plop. Dean’s managed to pull the gate up, and looks in pain, but runs to his brother despite that. “Are you okay? Is he…” Dean sees the body and looks up with a questioning look. “How the heck—”

“I don’t even know.”

Dean nods, almost impressed, but then the worry sets back into his features, and Sam notices bite marks. He says nothing. If he should be worried, Dean would say something.

“Hey,” the younger Winchester says, “did you find her?”

Dean nods, looks away. “They tortured her. It’ll take weeks to heal, even for her.”

Sam feels slightly sick. “Where is she?”

When Sam sees his best friend, he almost pukes.

“We need to leave.” Dean’s tone is gruff, yet final.

Sam agrees.

~*~

_“Do you want to tell me why you started hunting?” you ask him. “I just…why?”_

_Dean takes a deep breath and lets go of it. He looks at her, his expression blank and honest. “I was four. Demon broke into my house and killed my mom and set her on fire. And now—I don’t know. I don’t know what I’m doing.”_

_You nod, and you can see hesitation in his face, see the color of caution appear on your tattoo. “Do you want to tell me about…how did you become…you know. You don’t have to,” he adds quickly._

_“No—honesty’s the first step to trust, right?” The joke is weak, and you smile bitterly. “I was eighteen.”_

_He tenses. “I remember. A line went through the tattoo. I stopped functioning. There was a funeral, no body.”_

_You nod but don’t meet his eyes, fighting the tears as you think about the family you left behind. “Yeah. I was…I wasn’t really living anymore. I guess everyone’s teenage years are awful, huh?”_

_It’s why you still look eighteen even though you’re his age, a couple months younger. He’s twenty-seven now, and you’re meeting for the first time. You continue. “I wish I didn’t have to leave them. I wish I could see them. I wish—I wish none of this had happened.”_

_“Then, why? Why’d you choose to become a vampire?”_

_You give him a sharp look. “I didn’t. I wasn’t some Bella Swan.”_

_“Oh.” He has the decency to look embarrassed. “Then…what happened?”_

_“I was kidnapped. A pack wanted a new girl, and I was in the wrong place at the wrong time. It’s my fault. This wouldn’t have happened if I had been home earlier. I—”_

_“Hey.” You feel warm fingers against your chin tilting your head up, and his eyes are sincere. “It’s not your fault. You didn’t get a choice.”_

_You nod and simper. “Maybe not all hunters are unfeeling killers.”_

_“Maybe not all vampires are over-hungry monsters.”_

_“Well, I suppose that’s a start.” You smile at him—he returns the favor._

~*~

Dean remembers the high.

She’s sleeping—he’s watching her.

“Like freakin’ reverse Twilight,” he mutters and starts to leave, rubbing his neck, when she stirs.

“Dean?”

He starts and he turns. She’s sleepy and hurt. He smiles. “Hey. You okay?”

“I will be.”

He comes closer and kisses her cheek, then whispers, “I love you.”

“Love you too.”

He leaves, and after one long look back, closes the door behind him.

~*~

When you wake up, you’re in a warm bed. Your wounds are bandaged and the pain sizzles instead of sears. There’s a note on the bedside table:

_Hey. I got you something. If you’re hungry._

_(It’s from the blood drive. I also got you cake)._

Beside the note is a small bottle of AB+ and a thick slice of triple chocolate crème cake.

You sniff the air slightly and turn your head. Dean snores in the chair across the room.

 _Idiot._ But you can’t help feeling happy.

~*~

It takes about a week before you can feel your legs, and two before your skin somewhat patches itself up, and you eat with Sam and Dean and listen to Sam tell you how he killed Gordon (which, to be honest, is pretty impressive), you argue about movies, you force each other to read lines of Fifty Shades of Grey in various accents.

It feels a bit more like family now, the three of you. You love them. They love you.

And you don’t know how long this warmth will last, but you are too glad for its existence.


	4. Chapter 4

You are reminded too soon that they are hunters, and you are a vampire.

Months have passed and as soon as you’re back on your feet, you work and you work and you work, because that’s all you can do. You are a good person.

You just wish that you didn’t have to keep proving it.

“Relax,” Dean says. Sam is out getting something to eat. “Y/N.”

You don’t listen. “There’s a case maybe four hours south. Go.”

“Okay—wait. You’re not coming?”

“No.” You keep typing.

“Why not?”

“Dean, don’t make me explain.”

“Enlighten me.”

You pause, and turn. “I went to that last salt and burn, and that family tried to _pray me out of their house._ ”

“They’re idiots.”

“They’re right,” you breathe.

Dean stops. “ _What?_ ”

“They’re right. You should’ve killed me when you met me.”

“Stop.”

“I’m a monster, right? I drink blood. I die without it. I drain to survive—I don’t give anything back, I—”

“ _Stop._ ” He sits down next to you, turns you so you face him, so you _have_ to face him. “ _Listen._ You are good. I don’t know how many times I’ll have to say that. You are a good person. You keep me alive, you know that? Because I love you. I need you. Whoever tells you otherwise can bite me.”

You smile. “Thanks. I just—I’m sorry. But there’s been a shitload of vamp kills. I was looking them up. Here.” Dean leans over your shoulder, towards the screen. “Huge groups. And I mapped it—they’re going up a trail. They’re hitting up major cities. And it looks like Chicago is next, in maybe two days.”

“So, we’re moving tonight.”

“I was thinking as soon as Sam comes back.”

“What as soon as I come back?” Your best friend’s voice and the sound of a door closing behind him.

“Roadtrip,” Dean says to his brother, pats him on the shoulder. Sam gives you a questioning look.

You close your eyes.

~*~

The pack should be here.

Your heart beats hard in your chest, and you stalk into the small abandoned building, the pack by your side. You go in first—you’re a vampire, and they’re a lot less likely to kill you immediately.

You can already smell the blood and the guts, but the owners of the bodies those things used to belong to are long dead, so it makes your gut churn. Once you can see them, it gets worse.

And you’re already horrified, because you smell something else too.

_Familiar._

“Y/N,” you hear.

You stop moving.

“How nice it is to see you again.”

You turn around slowly.

Connor grins.

~*~

“It’s been too long,” Dean says. He’s practically bouncing.

“Dude. Calm down. She’s Y/N. She’ll be okay.

“Alright. We should—” Dean stills.

“What?”

“They’re behind us.”

~*~

“Listen,” he says to you.

You barely can. Everything he’s proposed is ridiculous, so ridiculous that you almost think you’re dreaming, and that you’ll wake up feverish on the bed, Dean hovering over you. Or, worse—you’ll wake up in your bed, your pack still intact, and everything will have been a dream.

The fear actually sets itself into your stomach, but then Connor digs his nails into your arm, and the pain is too real for this to be a hallucination.

Dean struggles across the room, next to his brother. They are gagged and tied up. You’re tired of this—of all of it.

“I don’t understand what you want.”

“I told you,” Connor says impatiently. “I had a revelation.”

“And what does that have to do with me?”

Connor turns around so fast that you’re surprised he doesn’t snap his own neck and save you the trouble. “You _see;_ we were _made_ for each other. We _have_ to be together.”

You raise an eyebrow. “There’s the whole soulmate thing, dude. You know that, right? According to the universe—”

Connor reaches down and takes your wrist, digging his nails into the skin and shredding it. Dean shouts through his gag. The name is illegible.

“It’ll grow back,” you tell Connor. “You know that.”

“I’ll just cut off your hand.”

“Then it’ll just grow somewhere else.”

“I could kill him.”

“And then you’d have no leverage.” You sigh, your calm tone not matching your mind’s frantic scrambling. “I was made for someone, and he was made for me. You were made for someone too, weren’t you?”

“No.”

“Your wrist—”

“I made sure she wasn’t a problem.”

You stop. Open your mouth. Close it. “You… _killed_ your soulmate?”

“She was in the way.” He sounds a bit pained.

Your mind races. If he was crazy enough to do that… “How…how _could_ you? They—”

“She didn’t matter.” He comes closer to you, his composure back. “ _Listen._ You were right. We’re more human. We aren’t savages. We’re _better_ than them. We could take over—”

“No.”

Connor’s eye twitches. “No?”

“Yeah. No. I’m not going to do it.” You can see Dean slowly sawing through his ropes in your peripheral vision.

“ _Don’t you see?_ We could be the new face of vampires. The humans—they’d be beneath us, they’d be _worthless._ An all you can eat buffet.”

“I’ll settle for IHOP, thank you very much.” You smile at the sound of Sam laughing through the gag. You hear the slight snap as Dean breaks free. He stands up slowly, unsheathing his machete.

“You know,” Connor begins. “I know everything about you. I know how you think, how you move, how you plan. I know how you think under stress. I also have the advantage of sharper senses. I know your boy-toy is behind me, and that he can’t kill me, because if he does, sweet little Lacy will slit his brother’s throat.”

Dean freezes. You curse in your head. Sam is still, and the vampire who used to be like a little sister to you has her hand lazily against Sam’s throat. Lacy smiles at you. You look back at Connor. “What did you _do_ to her?”

“What had to be done,” he says.

Your mouth dries. “You…you made them kill their soulmates.”

“No.” Connor grins. “I did it myself.”

“I thought I knew monsters,” you spit. “I was wrong. I only know one.”

“Stop stalling,” Connor says, almost bored. “Let’s move on. You’re not… _compliant,_ so it seems I’ll have to move things along myself.”

Dean lunges, and Connor ducks, and the blade finds itself in Connor’s arm and _through_ it. You scream, “ _Lacy! Don’t hurt him!_ ” and she startles, jumping back from Sam. You grate your ropes until they snap, running to Sam and getting him loose, telling him to run, just _run._ He won’t. You know.

And then Connor spins, and with the arm that isn’t hacked off, catches the machete and slits Dean’s throat.

Your world whites out, and he’s your only focus point.

You run to him.

You can see Lacy—sweet, kind, Lacy, who’s been working, carefully biding her time—attacks the leader of her pack. She’s vicious, and she tears him apart. Sam runs to you, but you’re already cradling Dean, and he’s telling his brother to wake up, but you can’t really make out the words.

Pain ebbs in your chest. He’s slipping away.

“Dean. Dean? Hey.” You hold him up, but the support is useless, because he slumps in your arms. “It’s not funny, come on. Dean. Baby, _please!_ ”

Connor is barely alive. “We can start over—”

Lacy silences him forever, and then she shuts herself down.

Another unfair loss of life, but right now:

“ _Dean._ Please.”

The light is fading from his eyes. You try to stop the bleeding, but the wound is too deep for you to help. Please. Please—

“Y/N. Bleed on him.”

Your head snaps up. “ _What?_ ”

“Give him your blood. I…” Your best friend looks down. “I know a cure.”

You can’t even process that, but you obey, cutting yourself and letting some drops into his mouth. The pain you feel is getting dangerously close to what you felt when you lost him. You can’t handle that. Not again.

Dean falls unconscious, but the pain, the bond you feel stretching and getting ready to pull itself apart again gets worse. He’s dying, but this time, it’s your blood that’s killing him.

You look up at Sam. “You knew a cure, and you didn’t…tell me?”

“It only works if you’ve never had any kind of blood,” he says.

You nod, understanding. You just feel, above everything, tired.

Right before the bond breaks, you tell yourself you won’t have to throw up in a corner.

It’s a big, fat lie.

~*~

Dean is fine.

Sam gives him some disgusting crap to drink, and he reverts. He’s okay. The line through your wrist fades.

You’re not speaking to Sam. He doesn’t attempt. You’re not mad at him. You just can’t feel.

You are a vampire. Your blood has saved your soulmate, who is blinking the sleep from your eyes and is trying to speak to his brother.

You realize that he will die, eventually. He’s a Winchester, and they’re bound to go down guns blazing. But even if he doesn’t, age will take him, and you will never stop existing.

You watch him.

And you wish for what you’ve been wishing for since you were turned: your humanity back.

~*~

You wake up suddenly. You’re sweating, you’re warm, and you’re frantic. The nightmare was the same—the man who turned you had the brothers, and he was going to make them into what you were.

Your heart is racing—

You stop.

Your heart is _racing._

It’s _beating._

Dean is snoring, but it’s not as loud as normal, because your ears are human.

“ _DEAN!_ ” You scream, and you hear him crash into something, but the sound isn’t loud and vibrating. It’s distant.

You’re human.

You sit up and see someone.

He’s standing at the window, short brown hair a mess, and he wears a long trench coat. His eyes are bright blue, and he nods once in your direction, a small smile on his face.

And he disappears.

You blink—Dean comes rushing into your room.

“Dean, look at your wrist,” you say.

He does. Then he does a double take and looks back up at you.

“It was an angel.” Your voice is distant.

“Yeah, okay.” He holds you. “Come on, lie down. Do you need something to eat?”

“Yes,” you tell him, your mind far away as you stare at the window. “Pancakes.” You look up at him, your mouth twitching. Tears are streaming down your face.

You realize that while the body you’re in is familiar, it’s not exactly the same.

You pull yourself to the mirror. You’ve aged, to the age you _should_ be. A couple months younger than Dean.

You almost cry again, and he hugs you. He’s smiling at the reflection of both of you in the mirror.

Your heartbeat slows down to match his.

~*~

Dean is standing next to you, and your heart, your beating, _real_ heart, races.

The door opens, and a woman smiles at you and looks like she’s about to say, “How can I help you?” But she stops. Covers her mouth. “Y/N?”

“Mom.” The tears fall down your face.

She hugs you and doesn’t let go.

~*~

**One Year Later**

You’re sitting at the lake, leaning against Dean’s shoulder as you stare out at the horizon.

Of course, you _should_ be trying to fix the apocalypse, but you both get one day. One day to pretend all will be well. One day to just be Dean and Y/N.

Sam and Cas are somewhere, doing whatever they do. It’s no secret how they feel about each other, even if they try to hide. Dean pulls you in closer to him and kisses your hair.

You’ve asked Cas how he did it, and he said: _I don’t have the power. My father gave it to me. You’re a part of it, Y/N. You’re part of the end. You’re just as important, and my father said that this is where you have to be human._

The sun is beginning to set, and you know that soon, you’ll have to go back to doing what you do: saving people and hunting things. It’s never really changed, even if the scale of disaster has.

But next to him, you can almost forget.

You’ll be there for him always, and he will for you always.

You’ll be there, no matter when the day begins, or when the sun goes down.


End file.
